


Valentine's Day

by literallymetaphoric



Series: Shanghai Collar [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Nolanverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 21:37:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20264899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literallymetaphoric/pseuds/literallymetaphoric
Summary: Since the Joker's recent escape from Arkham Asylum, Harley has been in shambles. The concurrent massacre ripped her friends and colleagues from her life, leaving her to cope with the suffocating grief and anxiety alone. Well, not completely alone. She still has the one man who's kept her sane through it all: the love of her life, Guy Kopski.





	1. Chapter 1

Harley adjusted her dress in the mirror, the thin, red fabric taut against her skin. Grinning, she plucked an earring from the dresser. She slid it into her earlobe as a gentle tapping drifted in from the living room.

“Just a minute!” She called out. Inserting the other earring she raked her eyes once more down her body. She scowled at her reflection. There was just something… _ah ha_. She plucked her lipstick from the vanity and painted on another layer, puckering her lips in a blood-red pout. _Perfect_.

She hurried to the door of her little apartment, buzzing with a rare excitement. She hadn’t been this carefree since _that_ night…the night of the breakout. She shuddered, but with a toss of her shoulder pushed the thought from her mind. Guy had been right, she needed a distraction.

Harley swung the door open to greet him, “Hey, you-”

She froze. The door bounced incongruously softly against the wall. He was here. The very man she had been dreading to encounter, looking over her shoulder for, imagining, horrified, around every corner. Ever since _that_ night. The night he escaped. The night he killed everyone she’d grown to love. The night he saved her life. Here. On her doorstep.

Thick, red greasepaint covered the scars she had grown so accustomed to at Arkham. They were so much less grotesque now, hidden behind the paint. So much more fiendish. The color bled into the white paint smothering his features. The dark shadows shrouding his eyes turned his irises, normally a mesmerizing hazel, black and beady.

He leaned casually against her door frame, his eyes focused over her shoulder. Bile rose into her mouth. She glanced up and down the hall; there was no one else around. Even if there was, this was Gotham. If her neighbors heard her cries for help they’d only turn up the volume on their TVs. Panic washed over her. Her phone, where was her phone? Upstairs? In her bag? _Shit._

“Well, aren’t you absolutely…” His eyes traveled up her body, the thin fabric that had made her feel so confident before now leaving her exposed and vulnerable. “…_ravishing._” 

Harley gulped, fear locking her mouth shut. 

“You didn’t, uh, didn’t _forget_ about me, didya Harls?” He removed his hand from the door frame and stepped closer, cocking his head to the side. His yellow-green locks, darker than when she had seen him last, fell across his cheek. 

“How could I, Mr. Joker?” Harley allowed him to tower over her. A single step back and he’d be able to squeeze past her into the apartment – not that he couldn't simply force his way in, if he so decided.

“I’ve got a little, er, surprise for you.” His tongue darted out, wetting his lower lip.

Harley gulped. Her eyes tracked his hand as he reached out as if to caress her face, but stopped just short of touching her. She flicked her eyes up to meet his, only to find he wasn’t actually looking at her. He was staring at his other hand, and she followed his gaze. In his palm he balanced a box wrapped in red paper and adorned with a purple bow. He lifted it right in front of her nose and grinned. Looking closer, she noted little red hearts embossed on the paper. 

“Uh, Harley, it’s a bit _rude_ not to invite your guests in.”

Harley swallowed and stepped aside. Immediately, she regretted not completely vacating the doorway as he brushed past her, just a hair from actually touching her. The rough fabric of his jacket ghosted across her wrist and she shuddered.

He stopped abruptly, “Is there a, uh, a draft in here?” He traced his tongue along his lower lip, releasing the rot of his breath into the air between them. “…or are you just happy to see me?” He stepped towards her and she backed into the wall with a thud, her arms rising up defensively. The stale stench of unwashed clothing enveloped her as he leaned down. Harley fought every muscle in her body not to shudder again when his hot breath raised goosebumps along her neck. “Hm?” 

She could feel his lips, almost touching her, hum against her skin.

He pushed the box into her hands, still raised defensively before her. When she didn’t respond, he used his fingers to wrap her own around the box, the leather of his gloves surprisingly soft. He released her hand, the box now solidly in her grip. He snatched her wrist, linking her arm in the crook of his elbow as he continued past the threshold. 

Wistfully, she stared after the open door before he kicked it shut. 

He waltzed forward, dragging her with him. He started to hum, almost inaudibly, and synced his steps with the tune. Harley struggled to follow, tripping over her feet. He continued on. Their disjointed movements would have been comical, if not for the sobering reality of her situation. Releasing her arm, he intertwined their fingers. He lifted their linked palms above her head to spin her. Her body, stiff with fear, stumbled against his. His grasp didn’t abide, causing her wrist to twist painfully. Only after she cried out did he drop her hand. Her heart thudded in her chest. His dramatic pout confirmed her fear – she had _failed._

He continued forward into her kitchen, leaving her clutching her wrist in the hallway.

“I like what you’ve done with the place.” His fingers brushed along the takeout containers and half-empty bottles littering her counter. Her cheeks reddened with embarrassment. She scolded herself. It was _The Joker,_ of all people: foul, monstrous, _murderous_, and here she was, feeling abashed at the state of her kitchen. 

With a violent sweep of his arm the contents of the counter crashed to the floor. A bottle of wine shattered at her feet. She flinched. 

“Aren’t, uh, aren’t you gonna open your present?” He teasingly crooked a finger, beckoning her. She looked down at her feet, bare and surrounded by shards of glass. She shook her head softly, almost thoughtlessly, and shifted her awareness to the box in her hands. The wrapping paper was damp and slippery in her sweating palms.

He closed the space between them, the glass crunching beneath his shoes. “Go on,” he purred, and again the stench of him bombarded her. 

His stare, hungry and impatient, prompted her to begin tearing at the wrapping paper. Her fingers trembled, the paper slicing into her thumb. She glanced up at him. His eyes were fixed on her face as he gnawed on the corner of his torn cheek. 

She disentangled the paper from the box and watched it fall to the floor. A deep brown stain darkened the edges of the cardboard. It was… _sticky._ Her heart hammered. She struggled to peel the tape, her fingers still shaking. His hand slid into his pocket. The squelch of his scar being released from his teeth set Harley’s teeth on edge. He grinned.

“Let me.” He pulled out a switchblade, flicking it open. He slid the flat of the cool blade across her knuckles. She wouldn’t be surprised, with how much she shook, if he severed a finger. Despite her concerns, he nimbly sliced open the box.

The smell of old pennies flooded her nose. She pried open the cardboard flaps. At first, her eyes didn’t register what she held. A thick, burgundy liquid had gathered at the base of the box, seeping through the cardboard. In it sat an… _object_, innocuously still. It was larger than her fist, oval, and strangely reminiscent of raw meat. She warred with herself, struggling not to put a name to what she held in her hands. Finally the realization dawned upon her. 

It was a human heart.

The Joker pulled a blood-stained greeting card from his lapel pocket, holding it up for her to see. _You have my heart in your hands_, it read. Underneath the script, in his choppy print, was Guy’s signature.

Harley’s vision blurred. The box fell from her hands. The corner of the box stabbed into the top of one foot before landing, finally, on the mosaic of crushed glass. The liquid…_Guy’s blood_…splattered onto her shins. The heart tumbled out onto the floor, leaving a faint red residue where it rolled. 

She collapsed to her hands and knees, glass digging into the fragile flesh. She retched, throat burning, as bile forced its way out. As she heaved, she could hear The Joker’s maniacal cackle filling the apartment.

He crouched down, cupping her chin with his palm. With a gloved finger, he wiped the vomit from her lips. With a steady pressure under her jaw, he drew her to her feet. Her foot brushed Guy’s…Guy’s…_the heart_. Her stomach churned again. She fought the black spots cloaking her vision and threatening to drag her, unwilling, into unconsciousness. The acidic taste still lingered on her tongue. 

“Ah, don’t worry, Harley, I’m going to show you a much, uh, much better time than he could’ve _dreamed_.” 

Harley’s knees buckled beneath her. His hand slid to wrap around her neck, holding her up. Her fingers scrambled at his grasp. The sudden disruption of airflow banished her lethargy. His grip vanished and she staggered, clutching at the ghost of his fingertips. He bent, using her forward momentum to sling her up and over his shoulder.

He shifted her, his hands gripping uncomfortably high on her thighs. He whistled. Distantly, she realized she recognized the upbeat tune, _The Entertainer_, from a sole tap dancing class she took as a young girl. He tapped the beat against her skin as he walked to the entryway. She heard the doorknob rattle, the door creak, his footsteps rasp against the tile.

She gazed up and down the hall, a flutter of hope dissipating in her chest as quickly as it had appeared. It was, as usual, empty. 

He closed the door tenderly behind them. 

Harley imagined the heart of the man she loved lying on her kitchen floor pulsing the same rhythm that had lulled her to sleep countless nights as The Joker carried her away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you to the incredible HazelHolly, the most amazing beta in the whole world <3 check out her fic “This is All” to be destroyed in the best possible way


	2. Chapter 2

Adrenaline flooded Harleen’s veins as the cold February air hit her bare skin. Still slung over The Joker’s shoulder, instinct kicked in she struggled against his hold on her. He held her legs firmly against his chest, but she managed a swift punch against his lower back. He grunted in surprise, and perhaps pain, but the sound quickly morphed into a chuckle.

“I, uh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you, doctor.” She continued to thrash against him, lifting her first for another hit. Before she made contact again, he removed one hand from where it held her legs in place and spanked her. 

Fear and shame mingled deep in her belly as she fought not to cry. She could feel distinct tingling where each individual finger had made contact, suddenly hyper aware of their proximity and her vulnerable position. She wanted to scream, to fight. But where would that get her? It wasn’t as if she could fight him off, this man had survived multiple physical encounters with the Batman himself. And was still kicking. She didn’t know what to do, what he was going to do. 

With each step his jacket fluttered out behind him, suffocating Harleen with the lingering stench of gasoline. She could feel his breath above her lower back, the temperature raising goose bumps underneath her thin dress. Her body shivered, due to more than just the cold.

Unceremoniously he slid her down his torso, holding her upright as her legs steddied themselves on the ground. The cement was so cold it made her feet ache as they made contact, the nicks there momentarily forgotten. She could feel every inch of his body against hers, his hot breath on her hair stark against the winter air. Her hands rested against his lapels to steady herself without thinking, leaving sticky dribbles of blood where they made contact. Before she could catch her breath he stepped away from her, and shoved her backwards. 

She landed roughly in the back seat of a car, sending a fresh wave of pain, and shame, radiating up from her buttocks. Noting the divider between the front and back seats, she realized it was a police car. She could see a man in uniform slightly behind The Joker as he made to squeeze in next to her. She quickly scooched to the other end of the seats. The policeman closed the door behind them, and went around to the driver’s seat.

Harleen swore she recognized the officer. She stared forward at the back of his head, rooting around her foggy memories of the past few days. Anything to distract her from what had happened at her apartment. Who was sitting next to her. What was going to happen next. The cop started the car and pulled away from the curb.

Occasionally The Joker would drum his fingers against his thigh or hum a little tune, but for the most part they drove in silence. The heat was barely blowing from the vents, just enough so Harleen knew the tremor in her palms wasn’t from the cold. She could see his head turn towards her in her peripheral vision, but she kept her eyes defiantly forward. Little shards of glass were imbedded in her hands, knees, and feet, yet she barely noticed the pain. She could feel the dried blood on her legs tightening the skin, whether from the backsplash of dropping the box or her own wounds she didn’t know. The sensation brought her back to the moment, and Harleen was painfully aware of the escalating speed of her own breath. Her entire body trembled with terror. She closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. 

She could feel The Joker’s eyes on her. He cleared his throat.

“You know, doctor, you’d be a lot, uh, warmer, if you weren’t all the way over there.” He patted his thighs, ushering her towards him.

“I’m fine, thank you.” She finally turned her head towards him. The intensity of his stare made her wish she hadn’t. Hiding behind his painted mask, she had no idea what he could be thinking. What his plans may be. She shuttered. 

“Well, uh, your loss!” He chortled.

Not long after, the car came to a stop in front of a tall, industrial building. The policeman came around to The Joker’s side, opening the door. He stepped out, smoothing his jacket. Glancing back at Harleen over his shoulder, The Joker winked before closed the door behind him. Her stomach flipped as if she was going to vomit, but it’s entire contents were already on her kitchen floor. He exchanged a few brief words with the officer before circling the car and approaching her door. Her heart hammered in her chest as he opened it. 

“My lady?” He extended his gloved palm to her and bowed slightly. The absurdity of the gesture, and the fact she was an inch away from sheer panic, almost made Harleen laugh. She glanced down at her still bare feet then back up at him. His eyes stayed on hers. With no other option, she took his hand and stepped out onto the grimey, city street. 

The still wet blood on her palms adhered to the leather of his gloves as goosebumps prickled down her arms and legs. The air was freezing against her bare skin and she fought to resist the urge to lean into the waves of heat radiating from his body. The loose gravel atop the asphalt dug into the cuts on her feet and made her stumble. The Joker, hand still clasped around hers, caught her, his other hand gripping her waist.

“Would you, uh, like some help, Harley?” He gestured as if to lift her over his shoulder again, head cocked. She could feel his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her side. She wanted to step back, to run. She knew, however, what a horrible idea that was. 

“No, thank you. I’m fine.” He raised her eyebrows at her, but didn’t protest. He twisted their fingers together, releasing his grip on her hip and pulling her towards the building. Each step sent jolts of pain up Harleens legs, and she did her best not to limp. The policeman didn’t even look at Harleen as they passed by. She glanced back at him as he closed her still open door before getting into the driver’s seat, starting the engine, and driving off. 

She was alone with him.

They entered the building, the concrete not much better on her battered feet. Its smooth surface was a bit of a relief, or perhaps the cold was simply making them numb. She glanced down, they were bright red. 

She tried to hide her shaking as they climbed a few set of stairs before exiting onto a balcony. The grated metal surface of the industrial balcony dug into her bare feet and tears pricked in the corners of her eyes. She closed them, just for a moment.

The Joker reached his hand over to her, brushing the tips of his fingers down the length of her arm. Her eyes snapped open her entire body cringed away from him.  
The smile that slowly formed on his face contradicted the brief hint of disappointment she thought clouded his eyes. He retreated for a moment, holding her gaze.

“And you said you weren’t afraid of me.” Behind the layers of fear and disgust, a small piece of Harleen’s heart twinged for the broken man she thought she had witnessed in the asylum. Though she hadn’t been completely fearless, she had said so. Perhaps that was what caught his attention in the first place. Self blame clouded her thoughts, replacing any momentary pity she had just felt. If she hadn’t been so cocky, he never would have latched on to her. He never would have come back for her. 

Guy would still be alive. 

Then again, it was probably that same attachment that had saved her life that night at the asylum. If he hadn’t been there, what would’ve happened to her? Or if he had, and decided not to help her? 

He looked up at her through his lashes, batting them. “Am I, uh, am I really that bad, Harley?” He licked his lower teeth, eyes mocking. 

“Yes,” she whispered, meeting his gaze dead on. Her voice gained confidence with every syllable: “But I am not afraid of you.”

He reached for her again and she willed her body to remain still. Since he had entered her apartment he’d invaded her space every possible instance, yet this time was different. Deliberate. He moved slowly, allowing her time to step away if she so chose. She held her ground.

He brushed the tips of his fingers down her arm again, and she allowed him to travel all the way down to her hand, encapsulating it in his own. He pulled their intertwined fingers towards his chest, then upwards towards his mouth, never breaking eye contact. Her eyes didn't waver as his dipped down to stare at their hands before softly brushing his lips against her bare skin. She shivered, and he looked up at her, leaving a bright red stain on the back of her hand. 

“Well isn't this.. romantic.” Harleen, too shocked by the gentleness of his touch, didn’t respond. “Ah, don’t be poor company, doctor.” His grip on her hand tightened and she gasped, reminded of the vicious reality of the situation as pain creeped up her arm.

“Yes, Mr. J, very romantic.” She appeased, trying her best to hide how disheveled she was. He loosened his grip on her hand, slowly allowing them to fall apart. Harleen wanted to step away from waves of gasoline and rot wafting off of him, but she stayed her ground. Her feet had begun to go numb and she knew if she moved them she’d be hit with a fresh wave of pain.

“Ah, just you wait, puddin’. The, er, fireworks haven’t even started.” 

“Fireworks?” she failed to hide the quiver in her voice. He grinned, the lines of his smile working through the thick grease paint coating his face and revealing the tiniest hints of flesh beneath the ghostly mask. Harleen knew he could see the fear in her eyes, but he just reached into his pocket. 

“You, uh, you wanna.. do the honors, Harley?” Harleen glanced at the device held in his outstretched palm, trying to decipher what it was. It looked like an old cell phone, but with wires protruding out the back. She squinted, hoping the deviance wasn’t what she thought. “Haaarley. I asked you a question.”

“No, sir.” She whispered, trying to hide the quiver in her voice. Her eyes dropped to her feet. Purple and blotchy, they had grown so numb she could hardly believe they were still managing to hold her upright.

“Ah, well, your loss.” He hummed as he fiddled with the buttons for a moment before slinking his arm around her waist, forcing her to face him. She stumbled, fresh pain prickling on the bottoms of her feet as pins and needles stabbed sensation back into them. She wanted to recoil, but the warmth radiating off his body was intoxicating, making the cold air feel even chiller. The thick smell of old pennies flooded her nostrils as she let him pull her into his arms. “You ready?”

Harleen shook her head. The Joker tucked his face into the crook of her neck, breathing deeply and pulling her taut against him. He turned so she was facing the city skyline, his back to it. He pressed the green send button on the phone before dropping in on the ground. The clatter made her flinch, which only made him pull her tighter. He began to sway back and forth and hum an eerie tune. Her chin rested uncomfortably on his shoulder, nostrils filled with the scent of old cigarettes and stale body odor. For a few seconds, nothing happened. 

Suddenly a loud pop made Harleen jump. The sky filled with smoke. Wayne Tower crumpled within itself, orange flames licking the ground where it once stood as rubble crashed down, expelling dust into the sky. The Joker hummed louder, swaying them to his imaginary tune. Harleens eyes burned with the ash as it made its way towards them. She could hear the screams of the people caught in the chaos, and after a few moments the distant whirring of approaching emergency vehicles. Her eyes remained wide and blank as she took in the chaos.

A few seconds later, another pop and another building followed suit. Then another. And another. And another. All the while, the Joker hummed and held her, not once acknowledging what was happening behind him. 

Harleen stood there, The Jokers arms wrapped around her waist, unable to look away. Yet, she did not cry. Though her body shivered from the cold, it was as if she was detached from the sensation. After holding out as long as she physically could she allowed herself to slump against him, her entire weight pushing into his body. He didn’t stumble under it, but she felt the corners of his mouth curve up into a smile against her hair.

They stayed there, The Joker tracing patterns along the backs of her arms while Harleen barley breathed, until the last of the dust settled on the ground. She could still see the lights of the fire trucks and ambulances in the distance. He whispered against her hair, but she didn’t hear what he said. Exhaustion and chill crept into her bones, and she pressed her tired body against his.

The Joker stopped humming and took a stepback. She leaned towards him, barely able to hold her own weight without his support. He finally turned towards the scene, scanning the streets closest to them. 

He started laughing. Deep, full bodied laughs that grew with each intake of breath. The sound tore the odd calm that had held Harleen from her. She felt every ache in her body from standing unmoving for so long. she didn’t know if she had ever stopped, but she became aware again of the convulsing of her extremities, with cold or shock she didn’t know. The sound of his maniacal laughter made the fear bubble back up in her belly. She leaned away from him involuntarily. He pulled her back, reaching into his pocket.

“Now, just a second, puddin’. I know I’ve got it around here somewhere..” he continued to fumble in his pockets until he pulled out a small video camera. “Ah!” The Joker wrapped her hair around his fingers, grasping her head tightly. She gasped in surprise, eyes wide as he held the camera in front of her face. A little red light began to flash, momentarily blinding her. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Dr. Quinzel.” Before her tired mind realized what he was going to do, pain erupted across her scalp. He had slammed her head into the wall of the building. She stumbled backwards, tugging at his fingers still in her hair. He pulled her again, slamming her head into the railing. Her eyelashes fluttered as she lost consciousness, her mouth still formed in a surprised “o” as she fell into his arms.

He drug her lifeless form back into the building, and resumed humming.


End file.
